Chapter Twenty-One
“When walls crumble, seek the source of the loose stone.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Almost taking The Celtic Knot’s front door off its hinges, Conn ran into the store and headed for the office. “Ivy!” he bellowed.
“In the office,” she responded angrily.
The moment he spotted her, he breathed a sigh of relief. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he peered into the office. “Only this place?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Stupid bloody idiots. What a hellish mess! Why?”
Conn moved past her and inspected the room. “Someone was looking for something in here.”
Ivy threw up her hands in frustration. “What? There’s no money in here. The safe is in the side closet. There is absolutely nothing of importance in here, unless you count the books.” She tiptoed inside and pointed to the bookcases. “They pulled them off the shelves and dumped them onto the floor. Some of them are very rare.” She started to pick one up when Conn reached for her hand.
“Again, I believe this was a search for something. The Garda should be notified immediately.”
She clenched her hands. “So much for a peaceful day.”
“How did they enter the store?”
“Back entrance. The bolt has been cut.”
“Mo ghrá, are you sure there’s nothing missing?”
“Yes, I haven’t removed anything—” Ivy paused and looked up at Conn. “Yesterday I pulled out three old keys that I had found stuffed in the back of a drawer my first day at the shop. I showed them to Erin.”
Rubbing his chin, Conn glanced around the place. “Where are they now?”
Ivy walked out of the office. “I took them home with me.”
Following the lass to the front of the store, he watched as she opened her purse and withdrew the keys. “Erin knew about them. She said the larger one was the first key to the cottage, but my uncle couldn’t determine the use of the others. Do you honestly believe someone thinks these are of value?”
Conn narrowed his eyes. “What time does the Seven Swans open?”
“Not for two more hours.”
He maneuvered her toward the front door. “I’ll call the Garda, but you go home.”
She shook her head. “I’m all right. I’m going to keep the store open. No one is going to frighten me away.”
Conn wrapped his arms around his warrior lass. “Any help today?”
Ivy lifted her head, and Conn noticed the shadows under her eyes. Tonight he would stay away from her bed and let her sleep. “Only Nan,” she answered softly.
He kissed her tenderly. “Good. I don’t want you to be alone today. I’ll go place a call to the Garda.”
****
The man stood silently within the thick cluster of trees down the road from the Celtic Knot. Several officers had arrived and walked around the place, and he studied their movement. Not concerned with the law, he focused on the one person he wanted to see. Fury boiled inside him when he found no trace of the keys in her office. Pitiful it had come this far. He hated resorting to tactics like these. They were beneath him. He’d prefer a rougher assault. Better to go for the jugular and dump the body somewhere.
Perhaps Miss Ivy O’Callaghan would trip on her way across the street resulting in the same loss of life as her uncle. Or wander down a path and become lost and confused in the woods. No evidence. No trace of her existence. “Vanished into thin air, the newspapers would say of the poor woman.”
He chuckled low at the thought, and then sobered. First, he needed those keys. It was important.
He straightened when he saw Ivy emerge from the Celtic Knot. Keeping his gaze focused on her, he raked his dirk against the bark of a tree in slow, methodical slashes. She spoke quietly to the officer.
“Pretty Ivy. You require a real man. Maybe I’ll show you what I can do, and then I’ll carve lots of pictures onto your body.”
Noticing her pale features as she spoke to the officer, he snarled. “Good, little mouse. Be scared. Scurry back home to America or suffer at my hands.”
The Viking came striding out front as if he owned the place. He despised the arrogant man from the moment he stepped foot in Glennamore. How simple it would be to put a bullet through his smirking face. Since when did he become protector of the bitch? He spat onto the ground in disgust.
“Yes, maybe several bullets for you as you speed off on your bike.” The man raised his index finger and thumb forming them as a gun. “Bam, bam, right through your heart.”
Content with everything, the man turned and stalked back within the forest, planning his next strategy in case the persistent Ivy O’Callaghan refused to leave on her own accord.
****
After Conn had inspected the back entrance, he deemed it was a male who had broken into the Celtic Knot. Though he wasn’t able to determine the exact person with magic, it was now time to pay a call on Eric Dunstan. First, he required some information.
Folding his arms over his chest, Conn’s gaze drifted across to the Seven Swans. Their sign was lit open for business. He started to move steadily toward the pub, when a certain sprite dashed up and grabbed his arm.
“Not without me, you don’t,” ordered Ivy. “I told the police…Garda to come find me here when they’re done. I have questions, too.”
He placed a hand over hers. “Afraid I’ll rip a limb off someone?”
Her laughter was music to his ears. “Yep.”
Upon entering, all eyes turned toward the couple, and Conn tightened his grip on Ivy. His intent was clear. Ivy was his woman.
Erin was the first to approach. “Sweet Brigid, what happened? We saw the Garda vehicles.”
“I came in this morning to find my office trashed,” replied Ivy.
“It seems as if the person was searching for something of value,” interjected Conn.
The woman’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Was anything taken?”
Mac moved alongside his sister. “What could they want?”
Conn looked at the man skeptically. “Indeed. Perhaps they were curious about a set of ancient keys?” He released his hold on Ivy, only to wrap an arm around her waist.
Ivy jabbed him in the side.
“The keys you showed me yesterday?” asked a stunned Erin.
Mac made a disgusted sound. “Who would want those rustic items?”
Conn glared at the man. “You know about the keys?”
“Yes, I told him,” answered Erin. “I’m sorry, Ivy, was I supposed to keep it a secret?”
Ivy reached for her friend’s hands. “No. But did you tell anyone else?”
Erin cringed. “Everyone in the bar last night.”
“I was there,” proclaimed Mac, placing a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Seamus and his friends were in the back playing darts, but there were only two at the bar when Erin talked about doing some research on the computer to help out Ivy.”
“And these two individuals?” asked Ivy.
“Mike Banister and my brother, Peter,” announced Nan from behind them.
Conn and Ivy turned around to face the young girl.
“Oh, Ivy, he’s a mess,” sobbed Nan. She moved toward them hesitantly.
“Let’s move to the back of the pub,” suggested Mac.
“Agreed,” Conn stated.
When they were all settled at a large table, Ivy reached for the girl’s hand. “What happened?”
“I swear my brother had nothing to do with your office, Ivy. Please believe me. He took a beating from Mike Banister, because he wouldn’t go along with him. He lured Peter into thinking there was going to be some fantastic story about the lost relics of a certain clan and a treasure worth a lot of money.”
Conn drummed his fingers on the table. “Let me guess. Clan Dunstan?”
The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Yes. How…did you know?”
He sneered. “Eric Dunstan made threatening advances toward Ivy the day of her uncle’s wake. It would appear Banister is working for him.”
“Filthy bastards,” growled Mac.
Ivy glanced at Conn and then back to the girl. “And Mike and Dunstan thought the keys were to these relics?”
Nan nodded. “Peter refused to participate any further.” She wiped her nose. “He came to like you. After he heard about your garden, Peter was furious.”
“Where is he now?” demanded Conn.
Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “He left. Packed everything and told me he would call when he got to Galway. Peter was the only family I had,” she sobbed out.
If Conn ever saw the man again, he would strangle the bastard. How could he leave his sister? Did he not consider she might be in danger as well?
Ivy squeezed her hand and looked at those gathered at the table. “No, Nan, you have family here in this village. You won’t be alone, I promise you.”
She laughed nervously. “At least I’ll be turning eighteen in a month. If not, I’m afraid they would have removed me from my home.”
“It will never happen,” stated Erin soothingly. “Remember, I promised your mother before she died that Mac and I would look after you, too.”
Nan smiled weakly. “Thank you.”
“You know you’ll always have a job at the bookstore, and I can give you extra hours if you want,” remarked Ivy.
The girl’s lip quivered. “I was afraid you would fire me.”
Smiling, Ivy shook her head. “Not going to happen. Your brother’s actions had nothing to do with you.”
“Oh, Ivy, thank you.”
The two women stood and embraced each other.
“Now, do you want to help me clean up the office?” suggested Ivy.
“Would love to.”
Ivy surprised Conn by leaning down and kissing him. “See you later.”
“Of course,” he replied and followed her movement out of the pub.
“You two an item?” asked Mac.
Conn turned his attention to the man. “Yes. She is mine.”
“Ivy was right about you.” Erin smiled knowingly.
He arched a brow, probably in question, at the woman. “Do tell.”
She stood, placing a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Ancient.”
Conn chuckled low and stood. Giving Erin a wink, he added, “If only you knew.”
Striding from the place, he tempered his anger before encountering the person responsible for this mess.
Hours later, frustration clawed inside of Conn as he surveyed Eric Dunstan’s home. Not only was the massive place overgrown with brush, weeds, and trees, but the house was also in dire need of repairs. Anyone could see from the dismal façade. Cracked pottery lined the front, along with abandoned vehicles.
No wonder Dunstan was after Ivy’s land. Hers would be a boon to his dull estate.
He continued to pound on the front door. Conn’s fury was barely containable after the incident with Ivy. If Dunstan did not agree to leave her alone, he might be forced to take other measures to convince the bastard.
Peering inside the front windows, Conn scanned for any signs of the man. His irritation grew when he realized the man wasn’t at home. Clenching and unclenching his hands, Conn fought the urge to roar. The man should be taken out into the woods and thrashed for frightening and hurting his beloved.
Beloved. The mere word slammed into his mind with a force to halt him where he stood. From the moment he had whispered the binding vows and pledged his soul—his blood to Ivy, an overwhelming desire to protect her consumed him. He sealed his fate. But would she be willing to open her heart to him? The circle could not be complete without her own vow.
Tossing aside the thought, he sniffed the air. A foul scent tainted the area.
“Have you found him yet?”
Conn glanced over his shoulder. Glaring at the man, he replied, “Not here. Why are you here, O’Reilly? What of your dealings with the man?”
“I never cared for the way Dunstan treated my sister when he came into the pub. I tossed him out the last time. He was trouble the moment he returned to claim his land,” his voice hardened ruthlessly. “To hear what happened to Ivy—”
Conn arched a brow in warning. “Ivy is my concern.”
Mac raised his hands up. “I understand. My reasons are purely of friendship. You both have made it perfectly clear. But that won’t stop me when my friends are threatened.”
Inclining his head toward the woods, Conn asked, “What is beyond the trees? The stench is one of flesh burning.”
“Sweet Jesus. The old forge.” Mac shoved past Conn and ran into the trees.
Conn followed the man cautiously, pushing aside limbs and stepping over fallen logs. Smoke filled his lungs the closer they approached. His Fae senses were reeling by the time they stepped into the clearing.
“Damn! There’s a body in the fire pit. It could be Dunstan. Help me get him out,” shouted Mac between fits of coughing.
Rushing to the man’s side, Conn pushed him back. “It’s nothing but charred flesh and bones, but we need to put out the fire before it spreads.”
Flames snapped to life as the embers danced off the pit—capturing a nearby brush.
Mac pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth. “The stream is on the other side. How are you going…no time,” he stated, wheezing. “Bloody hell.” He pointed to a wallet and keys nearby.
Rubbing his eyes, Conn pulled him away from the smoke-filled area. “Get some help. I’ll attempt to bring water to the fire. There has to be something around the forge.” Picking up the wallet, he looked inside. “They belong to Mike Banister.”
“Sweet Jesus,” he coughed out.
Conn motioned for him to leave. “Go fetch the Garda and firemen.”
“I’m not leaving,” barked Mac. “You need help.”
“Worried something will happen to me?” Conn coughed, dragging Mac along with him.
“Miracles have been known to happen,” he said smiling and then coughed from the effort.
Conn finally pushed him through the trees. “Go!” he ordered.
Hearing the man’s footsteps receding, Conn collapsed onto the ground and took in large gulps of air and energy.
Standing, he sprinted through the thick smoke, his eyes burning by the time he made it to the water. Quickly bending on one knee, he held out his hand over the water. “From the depths of the ocean, to the zenith of the clouds, let both be joined and fall over the land burning brightly. Let the water cleanse, soothe, and wash away the fiery embers.” Dipping his fingers into the water, he glided them in a continuous circle, until the storm clouds gathered. When the first drop of rain landed on his face, Conn sat back on his heels and waited.
The downpour of rain slashed across the land.
Rising slowly, Conn shook from the energy. He lifted his face to the pelting of water, breathing deeply. Hearing the sound of fire engines, he blinked. Shaking off the last residual power, he bolted back to the forge.
By the time he emerged, there were men surrounding the place, adding additional water to the outlying areas. He spotted Mac speaking with one of the Garda. Making his way to them, he raked a hand through his hair as he approached.
“Conn MacRoich. Strange how you should be here so soon after the break-in at The Celtic Knot.”
“Inspector Flynn, my reason was purely one of a verbal warning,” countered Conn, handing the man Mike Banister’s wallet and keys.
The man jotted down a few notes. “I’ll need to speak with you both later.”
“You can find me at the pub,” responded Mac.
Conn ignored the Inspector as he walked away. Lightning splintered overhead, and he frowned. He was in no mood to sit and answer feeble questions about a man he’d never had contact with. His concern was now finding Eric Dunstan.
“Great timing for a storm.” Mac kept his stride even with his as they emerged out of the trees.
“A true miracle,” replied Conn, smiling.
Mac shook his head, pulling out his car keys. “Come by the pub later. Drinks are on the house.”
Conn eyed the man warily. “A peace offering?”
He snorted. “A temporary truce.”
Conn watched the man drive off and rubbed his chin. “He would have made a great warrior.” Getting on his motorcycle, he took off down the road.
Lights from The Celtic Knot glimmered as he made his way down the street. The rain had turned to a light drizzle as he veered off the road toward the cottage. As soon as he checked on Ivy’s garden, Conn would kiss his beloved goodnight and head to the pub. He would watch over her from afar. In the morning, he would resume his mission on finding Dunstan.
Parking his bike, he made his way to the garden. Halting in front of the place, he cast his hands outward, filling the place with a touch more magic to help the growth. The light shimmered over the ground, hovering over those that needed extra tending. He lifted his hands higher, chanting the ancient words.
“What…what are you doing?” Ivy’s demanding tone sent a chill down Conn’s spine.
“In order to move out of the darkness, one must see the light,” he stated in a clear, calm voice.
Ivy stood near his side and gasped. “They’re much bigger. How?”
Turning fully toward her, Conn dropped his hands and let her see the power around and within him. No more shadows. No more darkness. He loved Ivy, and he wanted her to see who he truly was—the man and the Fae. He tossed aside the risks and prayed the woman who stood before him would accept the knowledge he was going to divulge. Had he not planted the seed already? Now was the time for truths. “I’ve encouraged them along with magic.”
Her gaze snapped to his, never wavering. “Who are you?”
Conn took a step closer. “You already know the answer, remember? You said the words the first night you saw me enter the Seven Swans.”
Fury shown in her eyes. “Ancient Celt, but that’s only because I recognized an old soul.”
“No. I am an ancient. Far more than you can imagine.” He swept out his hand. “Older than the land we are upon, older than some of the stars.” He took another step closer. “I am a Fenian Fae warrior—bound to this world and the realm of Fae below. We are the Tuatha De Danann—the Shining Ones.”
She shook her head, stumbling backward. “Not true. Not real.”
Conn reached a hand toward her. “Listen to me Ivy. I speak the truth. You know this to be true in your heart.”
“Don’t touch me!” Her breathing became shallow. “Is this your way of saying goodbye? Or are you insane? You’re using everything that has happened to me recently and fabricated this story. You’re twisted.”
He withdrew his hand. “Then explain your garden. Explain how certain people have unique gifts and talents.”
“I can’t, but that doesn’t mean I’ll accept your nonsense. You’re expecting me to understand that you’re some kind of mythological creature. For all I know you planted chicken manure to help the plants grow, and you’re only sputtering this story about yourself to scare me away.”
Clenching his fists, he snapped, “I do not utter nonsense. I do not jest. I speak the truth. And I am not a creature.”
She rubbed a shaky hand over her forehead. “Get out of here Conn. I don’t have time for faerytales in my life. They’re best left for children and apparently this thing we have between us is not real for you any longer.”
A torrent of pain slashed through his soul. She refused to listen to her heart, instead sealing it with fear. “Don’t send me away, Ivy,” he pleaded.
Tears streamed down her face. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
His body shook. Was it so impossible to accept? “Then let me help you see the light of truth. I will show you wonders that will take your breath away.”
“No! Leave,” she sobbed and ran off down the path.
Conn collapsed onto the ground. When he lifted his head up to the sky, he couldn’t determine if the wetness on his face was the rain or his tears. In all his lifetime, even in times of true sorrow, Conn MacRoich, Fenian Warrior, Prince of the Fae had never shed a tear.